


Someone who hates to see me go

by bigfriendlywords



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigfriendlywords/pseuds/bigfriendlywords
Summary: After the success of Three Cheers, Gerard struggles with the consequences of sudden access to drugs and alcohol. Not wanting to be responsible for the failure of both his brother and best friends's career, Gerard retreats to the middle of nowhere Texas to attempt to cure his addictions cold turkey.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Dear G,

I can’t say I get it, but I don’t often “get” you anyway. I mean of all the places you could have gone, one of them being rehab, and you decided to settle down in the middle of nowhere Texas? Ray keeps reminding me to be understanding so here it goes: I’ve got a surprise waiting for you “in town” when you are good and ready to receive one. It took a lot of disconnected landline phone calls to get this set up, so you best appreciate it. Also, the check for $14 is for when you treated me to a couple of beers that last day on tour. You know which day.

Love,  
Mikey

P.S. I’ll be calling within 1-15 days to give you details about your “in town” surprise

The East Texas accent was a fickle beast to master. Though he was positive numerous actors had been consumed by this very thought in preproduction, Gerard felt that it wasn’t a wildly held belief. In the early November somewhere between Tyler and Dallas, Gerard could be found hunched over a novel in a bookstore mouthing long vowels as he read “Rain of Scorpions” under his breath. He could tell from the way the clerk gave him the good up-and-down that his plaid shirt and white washed jeans were fooling no one. It was suggested to him at some point that maybe he should cut his chin length hair and consider becoming acquainted with the sun to introduce his skin to some melanin. Might have worked, but there was no time. Instead, Gerard spent his free time practicing an exaggerated Texan accent and littering his speech with frequent “y’alls”. He practiced small talk about the weather, where the rain was, and how lenient the new liquor law seemed to be.

Thumbing through the rest of a chapter, a postcard posed as a bookmark fell from a page with a meaningful passage. It simply read: “Gerard, you will get lonely. Please write me.” It was unsigned, but the front sported a photograph of a half-costumed Peter Parker crawling through Mary Jane’s window, giving Gerard a pretty clear indication of who stuck the postcard under his windshield wiper. Gerard was certain the sentiment was correct but was doing his best to fend off that thought. He had lived most of his life as an introverted hermit who lived exclusively in his fantasy world. Recent ineffable events had turned that lifestyle upside down. Gerard went from sitting in his basement planning Dungeons and Dragons campaigns he would never actually dungeon master to touring the world on a sophomore album. It was novel and exciting at first, but the constant faces and conversations, parties and booze, booze and pills… they took their toll.

Checking his watch, Gerard shoved his book back into his backpack and exited the bookstore with a quick wave to the clerk. Once on the main stretch of what use to be a small train town, Gerard squinted at the poorly drawn directions he had sketched while on the phone. There were maybe four businesses that actually proved to be open, so the directions were more of a courtesy than anything of necessity. Finding a dilapidated looking establishment at the end of a row of abandoned shops, Gerard triple checked the address before letting himself in through the screen door. 

Gerard was greeted by a quick “Mornin’,” a double take, and then an unsure “Gerard Way?”

“That’s me! You must be Randall,” Gerard responded, stepping up to the raised desk and placing both hands on the counter like a child at a candy shop. “I’m here to pick up… dog?”

“Yes, sorry about the name,” Randall responded, offering Gerard the firmest handshake he had ever received. “We spent too much time trying to name him… he started answering to dog…”

Randall opened a back door and led Gerard down a hallway crammed with cages. Interestingly, they were mostly empty—save one cage near the end. Inside was a medium sized, black and white dog—his tail wagging so hard Gerard was certain it must have been causing spinal damage.

“This is dog,” Randall gestured towards cage. “He’s a super mutt for sure, but I’m sure he’ll get the job done….whatever that may be.”

Gerard squatted in front of the cage and stuck a couple of fingers through. Dog licked him enthusiastically and whined softly to be let out.

“I’m certain he will,” Gerard said. “Can we let him out?”

“You might want to step back.”

Sure enough, the moment Randall opened the door of the cage, Dog launched himself at Gerard at full force. Gerard fell to his knees to allow Dog to lick his face and paw at his chest.

“Looks like a good fit,” Randall said giving Dog a quick pet on the head. “Take good care of him.”

Dog spend the majority of the drive home with his head hanging out the pickup window, letting the dry Texas air catch and lift his ears. Gerard tested a couple of potential names aloud to see how Dog would respond. He went through a couple of lesser known comic book characters: wizkid and moon knight, and a couple of cities from fantasy novels. But ultimately, Dog only responded to Dog. 

Pulling into the red dirt driveway, Gerard could already feel that boyish excitement one experiences when acquiring a new best friend. He’ll love the pasture, the meadow with knee length wild flowers, the pond at the slope of the hill with it’s lily pads and chirping frogs. The cats would require a gentle introduction and he’ll have to learn how to respectfully heard the chickens without causing harm. But he could see it now; sunsets under the giant oak tree in the front, sitting on the wrap around porch during thunderstorms, spreading out blankets on a new moon and watching for shooting stars.

It did not escape him that me may be lonely. He knew these were activities one imagined with a human companion and he sounded more like an aged widow living out the rest of his days with a trusty dog than a man in his twenties. He was getting better at pushing those feelings down without the use of liquor or anything that had to be ingested through his nose or in pill form. He exercised that strength now, swallowing down that knot in his throat and giving Dog a scratch under his chin.

After parking and letting the dust settle, Gerard kicked his door open and scrambled to let Dog out of the passenger side. Dog dashed out of the truck into the yard and for one terrifying moment, Gerard thought that was the end of his stint owning a dog. But Dog sprinted around in dizzying circles, causing his own little red tornado before returning to Gerard’s side. 

Inside his house, Gerard could hear the desperate cries of his four cats who were currently being quarantined in one room so Dog could roam the house. It was a great thought, but Dog instantly ran to the door dividing himself from four dangerous feline predators and whined. Gerard joined him at the door, prostrating himself to Dog’s level so he could too see under the door at the tiny set of paws on the other side.

“Frodo? Sam? Pippin? Merry?” Gerard called in his best “cat ease”. “This is Dog. He is your new brother. Now he may be a bit funny looking: bigger, longer, a bit clumsy and less majestic.”

Gerard could feel Dog look in his direction at that.

“But he is just like you. So please don’t scratch him or hiss at him. Please”

It was obviously not the most informed decision, but with that last plea, Gerard opened the door to the bedroom. Miraculously, Dog stood perfectly still and let the four curious cats smell their way around him. Smelling turned to marking, as the rubbed their cheeks against his snout. Dog remained stationary, clearly having lived among cats before. Respectful greeting dissolved into playful battling, so Gerard excused himself to his kitchen table to attempt to finish something he abandoned quite abruptly.

Dear Frank,  
It really isn’t about you. I know you think it is, but that’s too heavy a burden for you to continue carrying. We got too successful too fast. I thought I understood how the world worked: what my stance would be in any given situation and how to trust that I would be true to myself. But I don’t know myself. I saw myself doing things I would have never imagined myself capable of. I feel both old and like a new born.

That’s where he had left it. But as he heard the sounds of crickets and frogs crescendo as the sun cleared the horizon, he found himself going through the quiet routine of pouring just one glass of whisky. Something to inspire him to pick up his pen and continue.

Frank, when I say “doing things I would have never imagined myself capable of”, I hope you know I don’t mean “us”. I know I haven’t communicated in a while; but I think of you often. 

Not knowing how to end it, Gerard hastily signed the bottom like a lazy autograph and shoved it into an envelope before he lost the nerve.

“Dog,” Gerard called, opening the door to head to the mailbox. Dog detangled himself from the hobbits and followed at his heel. The sun had disappeared quickly yet left a pleasant purple hue where earth met sky. Gerard was continually amazed at how cool it became once the stars became visible.

Gerard placed his letter in the mail and flicked up the red flag. Dog sealed the deal by lifting his leg and urinating on the mailbox.

“When we get in there, I’m just having one more, ok?” Gerard said to Dog, motioning towards the whisky in his hand. “One more and I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

Gerard,  
While I find it ridiculous and counter productive that you refuse to pick up a goddamn phone, I’ve decided to engage in your lunacy for the sake of my bank account. I’m literally sitting at my drum kit waiting for you to send over ANYTHING I can work with. Your stubborn inclination to write songs lyrics first is really making it hard on the rest of us to be any sort of productive while you rock away on your porch in the desert. Mikey already warned me about “triggering” you through these letters. But honestly? I’m fucking triggered. So there.

Take care or whatever,  
Bob. 

Waking with a hangover to the sound of the 5am rooster didn’t hurt quite as much as the accompanying punch of realization that you have to get up for farm chores. It was harder to snooze now that Dog also woke with the rooster’s crow and enthusiastically licked Gerard’s face until he could burry his snout in kibble. 

After slowly shoving his feet into his work boots and haphazardly crossing the laces, Gerard shuffled into the kitchen to methodically shovel the Hobbits’ and Dog’s food into their respective bowls. He brewed a strong pot of coffee, waiting for Dog to finish his share before heading out to feed the others.

Gerard had slowly cultivated quite a farm in his time in Texas. It started with the four barn cats he inherited and quickly brought into the house to be his companions. He named them after the four Hobbits in the Lord of the Rings trilogy and started to refer to them as “The Hobbits” when writing about them in correspondence with Mikey and Ray. After the Hobbits, he bought chickens chiefly for the purpose of producing eggs, but that quickly dissolved into his love for their stupidly loud personalities and interest in the different breeds. After procuring a small army of chickens, he bought a couple of goats and a lone cow purchased for “clean and responsibly sourced meat” reasons. Gerard fancied himself a real farmer then, letting his cow out to pasture. It only took three days for him to mentally except he would not be eating the black and white cow. He named him Sodalite because of an inexplicable vividly blue ring around one of his black spots.   
After tending to the animals, Dog trotting alongside him and harassing the goats for an inordinate amount of time, Gerard perched down on a tree stump to watch the remnants of a beautiful sunrise.

“Are we going to write a song today?” Gerard asked Dog. Dog presented his tummy to Gerard as a response.

After scrambling some of his hen’s eggs for himself, Gerard sat down to his writing desk with a fixed frown. He wanted to respond to Bob’s heated letter but thought better of it. Bob only wrote to appease Mikey, probably, and the anger that came across in the letter was probably anger Bob held constantly. He found that anytime any of the guys figured out Bob had sent a letter, a quick post-it of a note would appear the next day with Ray’s handwriting and a short “He doesn’t mean it! Say hi to the hobbits and Doug.” There was a misunderstanding when Gerard sent a letter to Ray about Dog; Ray thinking that surely Gerard had not named his dog ‘Dog’. 

Gerard was half concerned he was about to write a goddamn country album. He thought of his fans’ faces then- something torn between disgust and concern. He took a deep breath and put his pen to the paper. He closed his eyes to focus on the tick-ticking of his wall clock.

I drifted off cause I pushed you  
Made it real easy to flee  
Just because we swam together  
Doesn’t mean you’ll sail with me 

When I docked, I saw your anger…

The phone at the far end of the kitchen rang. Gerard and Dog jumped at the same time and exchanged glances comically. It was a sound Dog had gotten use to; the constant ring, ring, ringing of that annoying device in the wall. Gerard had made a rule to not answer the phone, though his anxiety brain always made him question that vow when he heard it. His friends knew the drill though. Call twice in a row if it is an emergency. 

The first round of rings subsided and Gerard held his breath waiting to see if the phone would erupt again.  
Nothing.

Gerard sighed and looked at the last line he wrote: “When I docked, I saw your anger.” He sat with it for a while, that word “anger.” Frank had been so angry with him. He had never seen him like that; shaking and crying angry tears. Frank had spent the last month on a soapbox about toxic masculinity but almost put a fist in the wall in the end. Mikey asked if he thought letter correspondence only was going to fix his “communication issues.” Mikey also insinuated Gerard was a victim of “rigid thinking” and could afford to be more flexible. 

Before he realized what he was doing, he had an empty whisky tumbler with a single ice cub before him. He glanced at the clock: 8 a.m. 

He thought about it for far too long, but ultimately tossed the ice cube to Dog and returned the tumbler to it’s cabinet. 

“Let’s go play fetch,” Gerard called to Dog, crumbling up the lyrics he had scribbled and tossing it at his garbage can.

Dear Ray,  
Don’t bother sending a note apologizing for Bob. I know he might have expressed something maybe you’re all thinking but not saying. I wrote some lyrics today but they were about boats… Not sure if that fits our image. The Hobbits say hello, as does Dog who has accepted your preference to call him Doug. Did Frank mention if he got my letter? Is he acting okay? Say hello to everyone and I hope all is well. 

Love, G


	3. Chapter 3

Dear G,  
Haven’t heard from Frank, as he seems to be on his own retreat. It’s just Mikey and I occasionally visiting the studio space we’re splitting rent on. Oh and Bob, but I know you’re heard from him. Songs about boats would suffice. Songs about anything would suffice. I’ve picked up miscellaneous instruments in the meantime; trombone, xylophone, clarinet. Who knows, maybe I’ll join a ska band. Tell Doug and the hobbits hello, as well as the rest of your crew. When you’re up for it, I would love to visit. Texas always was one of my favorite stops.

Miss ya,  
Ray

“Christ,” Gerard whispered, flipping over Ray’s letter as if to find more on the back. Even Ray’s letters were starting to sound short and stunted; like he had more he wanted to say but couldn’t make himself write it.

Gerard stuffed the letter back into the envelope and grabbed his pack of cigarettes that were always an arm’s length away. Pushing the screen door a little too roughly, Gerard hopped off his wrap around porch and headed towards the tire swing he half jokingly erected for himself. 

It took two weeks for Ray to respond. In that time, he would get singular phone calls on his land line without a second ring. He considered breaking his own rule and answering the phone just to shout “WHAT?” but had resisted. He had successfully staved off that all encompassing compulsion to pour himself a drink for a week and a half now. He replaced the pull in his gut with compulsive smoking, which gave him an excuse to drive into the tiny red-dirt town to buy more cigarettes. He’d eye the tiny liquor bottles housed near the lottery tickets as if they were long lost lovers but ultimately let them rest where they laid.

“A storm is heading this way,” The clerk told Gerard, unsolicited. It was so cliché Gerard actually laughed.

But now that Gerard was sitting on his tire swing working on his second cigarette, he started to notice the breeze pick up. He heard his chickens protesting in their pin as the trees started to sway in the wind. Dog, ever the quick learner, herded the chickens into their coup before sitting at Gerard’s feet and whining. The swelling storm was only an appropriate external visual for Gerard’s mood and he felt himself imagining how amazing it could be to sip some whisky and watch the rain plummet the dusty ground. 

“Does learning to drink responsibly count as relapsing?” Gerard asked Dog, who only made intense eye contact and continued to whine as large rain drops started to dot the earth. Gerard finished his second cigarette and quickly lit a third. He let his mind rewind to a memory he had always cherished. 

They had just finished up a basement show in south east Louisiana. The owner of the house insisted they hear how rare it was to have a basement in south Louisiana and how lucky they were to see it above water.

“Being below sea level, it’s really doesn’t make a crock of sense that there is a basement here,” Their gracious host kept saying, pointing to some far off point that might have been the gulf to any trained eye.

Gerard had drained a couple of gin and tonics, at the host’s insistence, even though he wasn’t much of a gin drinker. Frank, on the other hand, was an enthusiastic gin drinker. He had taken to sucking on a lime wedge during lulls in conversation so he wouldn’t feel pressured to talk if he had nothing to say. 

“It’s lucky you played when you did,” Their host continued, lighting a blunt and passing it to Gerard, “We’re forecasted to get hit by a cat 2 in a couple of hours.”

“A cat 2?” Frank coughed on his lime wedge, “Is that bad? Are people evacuating?”

Their host simple gestured vaguely around himself and asked if it looked like people were evacuating. It did not appear to be the case. In fact the streets of the Irish Channel were swarming with people, walking along the sidewalks and spilling into the streets.

“We were planning on sleeping in our van,” Frank continued, clearly alarmed, “Are we worried about flooding?”

“Eh, it’ll be like a glorified thunderstorm. But you’re welcome to stay in the basement if you’re worried.”

As if on cue, the wind started to roll in, swaying the magnolia trees lining the street and bringing flight to litter along the curbs. 

Gerard had closed his eyes against the swell and inhaled the humid night air. He loved a good thunderstorm. Frank, on the other hand, had spit out his lime and was frantically running his hand through his long hair. Gerard grabbed Frank’s hand and lightly placed the blunt between his thumb and middle finger.

“Look, the locals don’t seem to be worried,” Gerard observed, motioning at the street. “Let’s just haul our sleeping bags into the basement, come outside to finish this bottle of gin, and maybe partake in a nature’s best shower.”

Frank took a meaningful drag on the blunt but ultimately nodded. And so that night, after setting up sleeping bags on the very platform they had just performed on, Gerard and Frank shared a porch swing and a bottle of gin when the other members paraded down Bourbon street without a care in the world. 

Gerard observed the way Frank tensed as the storm picked up intensity and the rain started to torrent.

“I didn’t know you were scared of hurricanes,” Gerard said, thrusting the bottle in Frank’s hands.

“I’m not scared of hurricanes,” Frank said defensively, throwing the bottle back for a long swig. 

“Uh huh,” Gerard said unconvinced. “And you’re bouncing your knee and twirling your hair because I suddenly make you nervous?”

Gerard placed his palm on Frank’s knee just to make a point, but Frank looked up sharply at him and stopped moving completely.

Gerard quickly removed his hand from Frank’s knee and uttered a quick “I’m sorry,” but was immediately interrupted as Frank grabbed Gerard’s face with both of his hands and crashed his lips into Gerard’s. It was the quickest peck of a kiss and if Gerard hadn’t been slowly retreating, the force of it could have chipped either one of their teeth.

As quickly as he was in Gerard’s face, Frank pushed back from him in the next instant and was clear on the other side of the porch swing with a panicked look on his face. 

Gerard stared wide eyed at Frank and brought a finger to his lip to check if he was bleeding. He was. Gerard swallowed hard, all the while maintaining that mirrored petrified eye contact. He allowed another couple of seconds to process before slowly closing the gap on the swing.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked, still terrified on the far end of the swing and clutching the gin bottle like a weapon. 

“What does it look like?” Gerard whispered, gently grabbing the bottle from him and putting it on the ground.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Frank said hurriedly and Gerard stopped his excursion. Frank buried his face into his hands and muffled a tortured yell. 

“Is it your first time kissing a guy?” Gerard tried, turning to look out into the rain as if that would help him internalize what just happened. He glanced down at his hands only to confirm he was shaking.

“No,” Frank said simply, also directing his gaze to the downpour.

“Ok,” Gerard said, balling his fists in attempts to stop their visible tremor. 

“It’s the first time I’ve kissed a band member,” Frank finally said after a moment of tense silence. “Who I have to tour with for an additional four months.”

“I see,” Gerard quietly. 

The two sat silently, unsure of how to reassure the other that this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

“But we can admit you’re scared of hurricanes now, right?” Gerard tried, stealing a glance at Frank who was slowly emerging from the cradle of his arms.

He simply nodded a confirmation. Gerard stood abruptly, the swing going haywire in his wake. He grabbed the near empty gin bottle and launched himself into the torrential downpour. The cold chill of the rain in contrast to the sticky humidity of the Louisiana heat sent shivers up his spine. Such a refreshing reset of a sensation. He spread his arms and spun as if he was the main character of a coming of age film. Wiping the mixture of rain and tears from his eyes, he opened them to see Frank beside him, mouth open and tongue out. The two stood and later laid there in the rain, letting it rinse them of every nerve that dare fire. 

Later, they pretended to sleep near each other in their sleeping bags, head spinning from alcohol and adrenaline. When the water started to trickle into the basement, as their host swore it world, Frank kissed Gerard’s forehead and thumbed away what could have been a tear or a drop of water from his drenched hair.

As the Texas rain picked up, Gerard let himself weep. There was no mistaking his tears from the rain this time but there was no one there who cared to differentiate the two. Dog had retreated to the covered porch and was barking for his return. Gerard felt himself slink off the swing to the ground, where the parched ground was still struggling to absorb the rain. God damnit he wanted a drink.

Dear Mikey,

I’m three weeks sober and everyday is a battle. I need everyone to know I’m so sorry and I know this is all my fault Please tell them I’m doing better. I’m so sorry. I’mdoin everything I can do to be better. I promis I’m not drinking. Im so alone mikey.


	4. Chapter 4

Mikey waited a modest minute before forcing his way through Gerard’s front door. He had knocked, of course; like any civilized person exercising discretion would. Yet, after listening to Dog bark like he was near feral and not observing any movement through the window, Mikey decided it was do-or-die time and rammed his shoulder into the door. 

The door gave way immediately and Mikey found himself tumbling to the ground with a resounding thud. After a moment of confusion, Dog leapt at Mikey and started licking his face. 

“There’s no one for miles…. I don’t keep the door locked,” Gerard slurred from his spot on the couch. 

“Thanks for that,” Mikey said sourly, rubbing his elbow gingerly, “I guess it was too much of a hassle to open the door or call out.”

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Mikey observed the empty whisky bottles and open cans of dog food littering the ground. He squinted to a corner to find Gerard supine on the couch with a lit cigarette between his lips.

“I was afraid I was coming to discover a fucking corpse,” Mikey said, standing abruptly and marching to Gerard. He grabbed the near-empty bottle from Gerard’s left hand and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

“Nah, you would have called a wellness check,” Gerard smiled without opening his eyes, “like you always do.”

Mikey sighed and extinguished the spent cigarette in the whisky bottle. Glancing around, he could tell Gerard had been on a bender for a solid week. Flies buzzed round a half eaten bowl of grits and his cats had taken to using Gerard’s discarded clothes as a litter box as their own hadn’t been cleaned in a spell. Without another word, he moved himself to the kitchen and started to tackle a mountain of dirty dishes. He could hear Gerard stir behind him. He hated someone taking care of the shit he but aside when drunk. The guilt and shame really came into focus when someone else was there to observe it.

“Please stop,” He said, attempting to render himself vertical before moaning and laying back down.

Mikey swallowed his reply and put his aggression into scrubbing a pot filled with what appeared to be burnt pasta sauce. When it was clear Gerard had slipped into a slumber, Mikey called Dog and walked out into the Texas heat in attempts to accomplish all of the farm chores. Sloppy drunk as he was, it appeared Gerard continued to be a good farmer. Mikey could follow the trail of fallen feed on the way to the chicken coup and pasture. He collected forgotten eggs and threw a stick for Dog for a good hour before returning to Gerard’s lair. 

Gerard had dragged himself to the bathroom at some point and was in the middle of a ice-cold sobering shower when Mikey walked in.

“I fed your children,” he said, staring own at Gerard, almost fetal in the bathtub. “I’m pouring out the rest of your stash out and then staying here for a couple of weeks.”

“No,” Gerard moaned, “I don’t want to take you from your life.

Mikey crouched before Gerard, offering him his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

“What life? What’s a band without a frontman? All I— all we do, is sit around waiting for you to resurface,” Mikey said. 

Gerard considered this as brushed his teeth for the first time that week. He attempted to ignore the crippling waves of guilt he felt with that last comment. All of his hangover were doused in guilt, so he’d mastered some unhealthy coping mechanisms. Now that his little brother was here, crouched in front of him as if he was a flight risk, he found it hard to engage in his normal avoidance rituals.

A couple of hours later and Gerard was sitting on the porch with a steaming cup of black coffee, fresh-faced, albeit a little puffy. Mikey handed him a bowl of chicken noodle soup before making himself comfortable on the porch steps. The sun was steadily falling and the purple and blues of that evening’s dusk was already spreading across the sky. Mikey lit a cigarette and leaned back so Dog could rest his head on his lap.

Gerard allowed himself to acknowledge how happy this made him feel; watching his brother pet Dog’s head and silently exhale into the night. He stared down at his bowl of soup and felt himself tear up. All those reasons to go cold turkey alone that he bulleted, diagramed, and charted seemed so stupid and trite now. 

“Stop blubbering,” Mikey said over his shoulder, “I’m not ready to feel sorry for you yet.”

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” Gerard tried, the only phrase he’s been able to choke out.

“Nope. Not ready for that either.”

Gerard smiled and helped himself to a heaping spoon of soup. Tomorrow was day one for him, but this time with help.


	5. Chapter 5

Gerard discarded the pills one at a time as if they were sacred and deserved reverence. Mikey tried his hardest to not roll his eyes as he watched, perched in the doorframe, as Gerard carefully considered each capsule before tossing it into the ivory throne. 

The last time he had done this, Ray was kneeling next him with an unwavering hand on his shoulder. They were on the last stretch of tour and had nearly made it to Baltimore for their final show when their tour manager found Gerard’s stash. Gerard had been in deep denial of the events of that evening, believing up till recently that it was a witch hunt and he had been functioning fine. In reality, he had passed out in a gas station in Richmond and Ray had to half carry him out of a stall. It was 10 o’clock in the morning. 

“You fucking told him where it was,” Gerard had spat at Frank during the makeshift intervention the band threw together in under 30 minutes. 

“Frank, he’s high and doesn’t mean what he is saying,” Ray had said, always quick to maintain the peace.

What hurt the most was the fact Frank didn’t even flinch at the accusation. He just shrugged and said “Sure,” before exiting for a cigarette. 

Ray supervised the disposal of the pills that night before the show, but Gerard had no intention then of being sober. 

In fact, as he tossed the last pill into the basin, he wasn’t altogether sue he was ready to be sober now. He always had that surface determination that would get him through a couple of months and three to four chapters deep into a self-help book. But in the back of his mind, there was this comforting thought that he always had alcohol and the pills to fall back on if things didn’t work out or got too hard. 

“Are we done giving the last rites?” Mikey asked. “You have a shit ton of animals screaming murder outside for no goddamn reason.”

Farm life didn’t agree with Mikey.

“And did you call your therapist?”

He hadn’t and Mikey knew it. Gerard took one last glance at the accumulated pills sitting innocently at the bottom of their watery grave. He inhaled sharply and flushed.

“Cool,” Mikey said and exited the room. He still had not forgiven Gerard regardless of how many times Ray delivered his over-rehearsed sermon on addiction being a disease.

It had become apparent to Gerard about week in to Mikey’s stay, that he was possibly angrier at Gerard for abandoning the band than he ever was about his inability to stay sober. Because of this, regardless if he was ready or not, the two discussed bringing the band there to record the new album. 

“You’ve made it virtually impossible to just up and leave this place,” Mikey had said, motioning around the farm, “unlike how you up and left us,” he had added followed by a short “sorry.” 

So then and there and without any consideration at all of the five of them staying in a two bedroom house that was not at all equipped for recording an album, it was decided the guys would fly in the following week. 

Gerard just didn’t want to see MIkey look at him this way again. And he missed Frank. 

He was actually floored when all of the guys, including Frank and Bob, agreed to leave their lives and travel to the middle of no where.

And now on the eve of their arrival and at the bequest of Mikey, Gerard searched all of his old hiding spots and came up with one last baggie of pills to be disposed of. All that was left to do was wait. That is, besides feeding the animals and lugging in the mattresses they had bought in town. 

The next morning, Mikey left the house at the crack of dawn to drive to Dallas and collect Ray, Bob, and Frank. Ray and Frank has flown with their instruments but Bob straight up refused to pay to ship his drums. Gerard had managed to find a very used set at a thrift shop in town and was expelling his nervous energy by scrubbing it with a toothbrush.   
He hadn’t thought this through at all and was now panicking. After scrubbing the shit out of the drum set, he completed his farm chores with such attention and detail that he ended the morning with a “to be fixed and updated” list that was organized by need and cost. 

Glancing at his watch, he realized the truck would kick dirt up in the driveway in just under 30 minutes. He spent that time literally tapping his fingers on the table and staring at the empty cabinet that used to store his liquor. 

The moment he heard the truck pull into the drive, Gerard hopped up and stood completely stationary. With his fight or flight in full force, he resorted to throwing on the tap and pretending to wash dishes.

He ignored the door opening, hoping they would buy that the sound was drowned out by the sound of the running water and clinking dishes. What he couldn’t ignore, was Ray dropping his bag at the door and running full speed at Gerard.

He scooped him up in an all encompassing hug and squeezed. Gerard let out a resounding “oof,” but found himself smiling like a maniac as he returned the hug with his soapy dish gloves. As Ray rotated him, Gerard caught sight of Frank standing awkwardly at the door. Much like Gerard, it seemed he hadn’t touched his hair since he’d last seen him but evidently got more ink. They made brief contact before Ray put Gerard down.

“Dude, this place is amazing,” Ray said, “I can really see us making a kickass album here.”

Gerard simply nodded stupidly with his yellow gloves dripping soap suds on the floor. He dared to glance at Frank again but Frank was not looking at him. Instead he was already on the floor with Dog, putting a dog toy between his teeth and growling as Dog bowed at him and lunged for the toy. Frank paused for just a moment to glance up and say “hey” before tackling Gerard’s dog.


End file.
